passion unattended
by airbefore
Summary: They haven't spoken in three days. Not since the night they'd shouted at each other over the phone, the two hundred miles of earth between them fracturing, a chasm spreading wide and threatening to swallow them whole.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

_Passion unattended is a flame that burns to its own destruction._

_~Kahlil Gibran_

He's waiting next to her front door when she gets off the elevator.

The sight of him sets her heart racing, relief pounding through her veins with each beat. They haven't spoken in three days. Not since the night they'd shouted at each other over the phone, the two hundred miles of earth between them fracturing, a chasm spreading wide and threatening to swallow them whole.

He'd been pissed that she had to cancel another weekend, the third one in as many months, barely restrained fury shading his words. She tried to explain, the ring around her finger clacking noisily against the back of her phone as she'd paced, telling him it was out of her hands, her control. It was the job.

_Of course it's the job, Beckett. It always is._ _You'll never pick me._

She can't remember everything that came after. Accusations and recriminations, angry words and tense silences. They'd finally stalled at one in the morning, Kate tiredly telling him that they needed to take a break, needed to calm down. Asked him to call her the next day so they could talk things through, let cooler heads prevail.

He never called.

"Castle," she breathes, keys jangling against her leg as she approaches him. He stands with his back pressed against the wall, hands shoved deep into his pockets. She can see the stubble on his cheeks as she nears, can see the dark circles under his eyes from ten feet away. He looks like hell. He looks how she feels.

"Hey," he says, pushing off the wall and turning to face her. He doesn't reach out, doesn't smile.

"I'm so glad to see you," she says, stepping into him and fisting her hands in the front of his shirt. Her forehead lands on his chest and she feels him suck in a deep breath, the expansion of his ribs pushing her back. A tentative hand slides between her shoulders, thumb rubbing slowly against the sharp ridge of her scapula.

Kate breathes him in, her lungs fighting to process the thick air hanging between them. She can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her hand and she closes her eyes, lets the familiar rhythm loosen the thick bands of anxiety wrapped around her chest. Breaking away, she looks up at him with a soft smile. His answering one is half-hearted at best, the shadows in his eyes making her shiver.

"Let's go inside," she says, releasing her grip on his shirt.

Castle nods and follows her in, his movements slow and labored. She watches him as she takes off her gun, slips the heavy bag from her shoulder. He looks lost, standing in the middle of her entryway, like he doesn't know what to do with himself, doesn't know how to be here.

Toeing off her shoes, Kate grips his left wrist and tugs. He stumbles into her, hands flying to her waist to keep them both standing. Chuckling low in her throat, she wraps her arms around his middle, holding him close.

"I'm sorry, Rick." Her chest hitches on his name and she presses a kiss to the side of his neck. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry too," he says, hands skimming up her back and loosely cupping her shoulders. The timidity in the gesture makes her want to cry. "I - I didn't mean the things I said."

"Neither did I." Kate leans back, one hand smoothing up his chest. "You know I didn't want to cancel, right? I wanted to come home, Castle. I wanted that so much. But the case -"

"I know." Castle nods, hair flopping limply over his forehead. "I know."

Sighing out his name, she pushes up on her toes and kisses him. Castle's hands move to her cheeks and he kisses her back fiercely, taking from her mouth with a savagery that rips her open, exposing her bruised heart. She moans, gripping him tightly, his heavy body the only thing keeping her upright.

It's been so long. So long since she felt the warmth of chest, the hard press of his body against hers. So long since he held her, his arms tight around her back and lips pressed to the top of her head as he whispered his love into her hair. So long since she woke up next to him, their legs tangled and his hand splayed wide over her stomach. It's been so long and she wants him. Badly.

Heat curls in her abdomen and she takes a step back, trying to pull him with her, fisted hands stretching the soft cotton of his shirt. Castle doesn't move, instead breaking the kiss and pressing his forehead against hers. They're both panting, sucking in shallows breaths that echo loudly in the silence.

"I love you," Kate whispers, voice cracking. "I love you, Castle."

Slowly, he releases her and takes a step back. Then another. His hands slide from her face, the tips of his fingers lingering along her jaw for just a moment before he drops his arms. Tears shimmer in his eyes when he speaks.

"I slept with someone."

* * *

_Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated. _


	2. Chapter 2

_The response to the first chapter of this story really blew me away. I am so very grateful to everyone who reviewed or followed or favorited or just read. There were a lot of differing opinions and more than a few angry words in the reviews for chapter one and though I responded to most of them personally, I'll address a few things here. I really dislike long author's notes so I'll keep this as brief as possible and promise that I'll never do it again. _

_In regard to the declarations that Castle would never cheat, our character is defined by the things we do, not the things we - or others - don't think ourselves capable of. The truth is that we can believe ourselves to be one hundred percent certain of what our actions or reactions would be in a certain situation but until we're there, until we're living it, we'll never know for sure. Do I think Castle is a serial cheater? No. Do I think he's capable of it in this instance? Yes, as evidenced by the fact that this story exists. _

_A lot people mentioned that Castle would never cheat because he knows what it's like to be cheated on and that what Meredith did to him 'destroyed' him. I have to respectfully disagree on both points. Being cheated on does not preclude one from cheating. In a perfect world it would but we don't live in that world. As for the second point, the only place this 'Meredith's cheating ruined Castle' mythology exists is in fic. It is fanon, not canon. I can understand the appeal of that reasoning from a writing standpoint but as it's not actually established within the universe of the show, treating it as the gospel is something of a fallacy. _

_Okay. That's it. If you're still with me, thank you so much for sticking around and being willing to give this story a chance. _

* * *

The world contracts, the warmth in her chest icing over in the space of a breath, her ribs cracking under the increased gravity as everything shrinks around her. All she can see is his face. All she can hear are his words.

He slept with someone.

Someone who kissed his mouth and touched his body, felt the heat of his skin and the driving power of his hips.

Someone who isn't her.

Pressing three fingers to lips that still buzz with his kiss, Kate closes her eyes and sways on the spot. Her stomach rolls, dropping low into her abdomen as a shiver skitters down her spine, her skin breaking out in gooseflesh. She can feel her legs shaking but refuses to give in to it, refuses to let herself collapse under the weight of his words, his actions. His betrayal.

"Kate."

Slowly, she lets her eyes open and focus on him. She can see it now. Can see it on his face, in the way he's looking at her. It's not remorse over their argument that's left the dark stains under his eyes or the two days worth of hair on his cheeks. It's not about her having to cancel her trip home or the harsh words he threw at her or how he didn't say he loved her before they hung up the phone that night.

It's not about her at all.

"Kate," he rasps again, the tears still pooling at the corners of his eyes. "Say something."

What is there to say?

"I think you should go," she says. "Just - just go, Rick."

Castle lifts a hand but makes no move toward her. "Please, let me explain."

"Explain how you had-" the word sticks in her throat - "had sex with another woman? I don't think there's much about that that needs to be explained."

Inhaling deeply, she turns away from him, walking into her tiny kitchen. The countertops are bare but for a toaster and the espresso machine Castle insisted on buying her as a housewarming gift. She'd called him laughing when it was delivered, told him it wasn't necessary to buy housewarming presents for your fiancée. Her heart lurches when she looks at it. Kate averts her eyes quickly and walks to the sink, seeking out a glass of water for her suddenly arid mouth.

The ring catches in the light when she reaches into the cabinet for a glass. She stares at it, glass forgotten as she pulls her shaking hand back. Kate rubs her right thumb over the diamond, a nervous habit she's picked up during the six months it's been on her finger.

Six months of engagement. That's it. Six.

Took them five years to get there and less than one to ruin it.

His boots thump softly on the tile behind her and Kate wraps her fingers around the edge of the counter, knuckles blanching white. He's not going to leave. She knew it when she told him to. He came here to unburden himself and won't leave until he's done it.

"I had been drinking." He speaks softly but the words still explode like bombs in the too quiet kitchen. "I know alcohol isn't an excuse but it was - It was a factor. I was confused and hurting and angry and-"

Kate releases the counter and spins to face him, an entirely different kind of heat flooding her veins. "I was confused and hurting and angry too, Castle, but I didn't go out and _fuck_ another man."

She watches the words hit him, watches him rock back on his heels. He closes his eyes, swallows. "I know."

The anger fades as quickly as it flared. Kate wraps her arms around her middle, shoulders rolling forward and spine curving almost painfully as she holds herself. The images come unbidden, technicolor flashes of bare skin and rippling muscles, open mouths and roaming hands. His hands.

On a body that isn't hers.

Her stomach riots again and she barely makes it over the sink before she vomits, her body seizing over and over, trying to expel the pain along with her dinner. Thick fingers scrape the hair off her cheeks and she breaks; a ragged sob ripping through her chest, the tears finally falling.

Castle holds her hair loosely in his fist as she cries, his free hand rubbing slow circles over her back. He's muttering apologies into her left shoulder and all she wants is for him to shut up - wants to tell him that he can't fix it with his words this time; that they don't mean anything, they're not going to make this better or make it hurt less, not going to fill in the black hole in the middle of her chest - but she can't stop choking on her own lungs long enough to speak.

* * *

_Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	3. Chapter 3

Hiccoughing, Kate pushes him away, her palm flat against his sternum and his name sticking somewhere in the back of her throat. She needs distance, can't handle the feel of his hands smoothing over her skin, trying to soothe away the pain and devastation he'd brought with him tonight.

Warm and kind with broad palms and thick fingers, his hands have always been one of her favorite parts of him. Hands that excite, driving her to the brink, taking her higher than she's ever gone; hands that mend, fitting the scattered pieces of her back together after she falls. His hands are his tools, the hammer and chisel with which he carves out her story. Their story. Page by page. Book by book. He draws his fingers over the keys, over her skin, writes the words that brought her comfort and peace for years before she knew him, the words that made her fall in love with him.

And now all she can see are his hands on someone else. Sweeping over hips, cupping breasts, navigating curves that don't belong to her. His fingers inside another woman, breaking her apart, making her moan and writhe and buck into him, begging for more.

Her stomach lurches again and Kate stumbles, catching herself on the edge of the counter. Closing her eyes, she counts to ten, breathing deeply through her nose and trying to ignore the taste of bile on her tongue.

"Kate. Talk to me. Please."

The plaintive tone of his voice makes her see red. He has no right to sound like that. Not right now. Not after demolishing everything she thought she knew, leaving her decimated and confused. Broken.

He has no right.

"Go home, Castle," she says, careful not to let her body brush his as she steps around him and heads for her bedroom.

* * *

Steam swirls around her, the scalding spray from her shower pounding against the back of her neck, beating her muscles into reluctant submission. Kate wraps her arms around her waist, refusing to give in to the desire to sink down, to curl her body into the curve of the bathtub and sob. She doesn't want to feel it anymore. The pain and the betrayal. The devastation. All she wants is to be numb.

She stands under the water until it runs cold, not bothering to wash her body. There's no point. No amount of soap or scrubbing will make her feel clean right now. Nothing will erase the layer of grimy hurt that coats her skin.

Wet fog shines on the mirror when she steps of the tub, toes curling into the thick pile of the bathmat. She doesn't wipe it off, has no desire to see her face. Her fingers blanch around the thin stick of her toothbrush, skin pulling painfully over her knuckles, but she can't make them loosen. She brushes her teeth viciously, scouring her tongue and cheeks, trying to cleanse her mouth of the taste of bile.

The taste of him.

Apathy sets in suddenly, twining through her brittle ribs and closing off her chest. Her wet hair goes uncombed, her skin unlotioned. One of his shirts hangs from a hook on the back of the bathroom door and she reaches for it by instinct, hand curling into the cotton. Cracks spiderweb through the ice around her heart at the feel of it against her skin, soft and worn and so perfectly Castle.

Jerking her hand away, palm burning, she digs a pair of yoga pants and one of her own tshirts out of her hamper, pulling them over her body as quickly as she can. She doesn't want to be naked; needs to cover herself, dress her wounds..

He's sitting on the floor next to the bathroom when she comes out, booted feet planted on the hardwood he'd been so excited about when she'd first moved in, elbows resting on his bent knees and head hung low. Kate can't tell if it's shame or regret or guilt that weighs down his broad shoulders, doesn't care.

She can feel his eyes on her as she crawls into her bed, the sheets smooth over her still shower reddened skin. It's another reminder of him, of them. Of the way these same sheets - the ones he'd brought from New York to replace the cheap, rough set she'd purchased in haste while trying to make this place livable in between fourteen hour training sessions - slid over their naked bodies as they moved together in the darkness, giving themselves to one another night after night.

The urge to rip them off overwhelms her and she gets back out of the bed, stripping it bare. Castle doesn't speak, doesn't move, as he watches her throw it all - comforter, sheets, pillows - into the corner of the room. The naked mattress scratches against her cheek when she climbs up again, curling herself into a tight ball, her back to him.

Her engagement ring catches on the hem of her shirt when she shoves her hands between her bent knees. She should take it off. It - It doesn't mean anything anymore. Is nothing more than a reminder of what he did, what he threw away in a fit of angry impulsiveness. But she can't. Can't bring herself to do it, to slide it off her finger for only the second time since he put it there.

The ring had been a size too large when he first gave it to her, slipping dangerously up and down her finger every time she moved her hand. He'd been sheepish about it, had explained that the hastiness of the purchase had prevented him from being able to have the band properly sized. With a smile, the swing next to her still swaying from where she'd almost fallen out of it when she slid down to meet him on the grass, Kate had kissed him, told him they could worry about it later. She wanted to wear it. Wanted to feel it on her finger, the weight of the promises they'd just made holding her steady, keeping her grounded while everything else in her life changed.

She'd finally let him take it to get sized after it fell off while they were packing up her apartment. They spent twenty minutes ripping tape off boxes, rifling through her possessions until Castle found it buried under a stack of dishtowels. He'd brought it back to her a week later, sized perfectly, the date they met engraved in the cool metal.

A gentle breeze brushes over her cheek and Kate opens her eyes to find him kneeling next to the bed, his hands curled around the edge of the mattress. They stare at each other in silence until she just can't take it anymore, can no longer ignore the voice inside her head.

"Why, Rick? Why would you do this to me? To us?"

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice hoarse and broken.

"Stop saying that." Her ribs hitch and Kate closes her eyes, fighting back the tears. "Just stop."

His fingers brush over her cheek and she flinches, pulling back from him. He can't touch her. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Because all she can think about is how he touched _her_.

"Who is she?"

Castle sighs, his throat bobbing as he swallows. "Does it really matter? It was a mistake. She was a mistake. It didn't mean anything, Kate."

"No," Kate says, the tears slipping free without her permission, sliding over her cheek and dripping onto the mattress. "It means everything."

* * *

_I continue to be blown away by the response to this story. Thank you all so much for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated. _


	4. Chapter 4

Kate sits up, scrubbing the heels of her hands over her cheeks. Scooting back on the mattress, she folds her legs and rests against the headboard, the cold brass bars pressing hard on her shoulder blades. She'd rented a furnished apartment, hadn't wanted to deal with moving all of her furniture from New York. Castle had offered to hire someone but she'd refused, insisted that this was good enough for now, until they got married and decided on permanent living arrangements.

In this moment, she wishes she had let him rent a truck and tote all of her stuff across three states. She wants her things. Her bed and her couch and her dresser. She wants the familiarity because the one thing, the one part of her life, her home, that has brought her comfort over the past six months no longer does.

Spine straight, she folds her hands in her lap, thumb and index finger of her right hand gripping her ring, twisting it around and around, the band pinching her skin.

"Tell me what happened."

Castle closes his eyes, hands tightening around the edge of the mattress until his knuckles turn white. "Kate, I don't think -"

"I don't really care what you think right now," she bites out, acid burning away the tip of her tongue. "You obviously came here to unburden yourself. What happened?"

She wishes the anger felt better. Wishes it could tear off even a thin layer the of anguish smothering her heart, let her breathe. Castle looks up at her again and she tries not to be affected by the redness rimming his eyes or the forlorn droop of his mouth. The urge to comfort him, to pull him into her arms and run her fingers through his hair, hits her hard. She chokes on it, the wet knot of love and sympathy lodged at the base of her throat.

No.

He does not get to make her feel like that right now. Like the only thing that matters is making things better for him because the thought of him hurting rips her apart.

"Can I -" he says, waving a hand at the foot of the bed.

Kate hesitates. This could be - This could be the last time they share a bed and she's not sure she wants this to be her memory of them. She wants to be able to think about the last time, the real last time. When he held her, his body a wall of heat against her naked back, as they whispered to each other in the dark, hands tangled together between her breasts. She doesn't want to taint that. Not with this.

But then he shifts his feet and winces and she remembers. His knee. The knee he injured showing off for her on their first real vacation together. The knee that prompted her to put on the show of a lifetime just to make him smile, make him happy. Because she loves him.

She nods.

Castle sits, the bare mattress scraping softly against his jeans. He angles his body toward her, bent right leg pulled up on the bed, left knee hooked over his ankle. His hands flutter in his lap, nails picking at the seams on his pants. She wants to reach out and calm him but she doesn't. Won't.

Instead she asks the question again.

"What happened?"

With a shaky sigh, eyes averted from hers, he starts.

"I didn't sleep after we got off the phone that night. I was so angry. Angry with you, with myself, at the situation. I wanted to call you back and try to talk through it again. Hell," he lets out a mirthless chuckle, "I wanted to get on a plane and come here." He looks at her, hands going still in his lap. "I wish I had done that."

Kate doesn't respond.

"I didn't call, though. Or come. Because I was angry and hurt and I knew it'd just lead to more fighting. And I'm so tired of the fighting, Kate."

The band around her heart clicks a notch tighter. They've fought so much over the past four months. So many whispered arguments or all out shouting matches. Every time hurt just a little more. Made her worry about them, about their foundation. She can see them now. The cracks. The long, thin crevices where the doubt trickled in.

"Me too," she whispers. The words come without her permission and she regrets them immediately. Pushing harder against the headboard, she lets the sharp bite of pain pull her back to the present. This is his confession, not hers.

"I tried to write," Castle says after a long pause. "I tried to get it out but the more I typed the more frustrated I got. So after a while, I gave up and started drinking instead." He meets her eye for the first time. "Not a healthy coping mechanism, I know."

Kate tightens her fingers around the ring, the sharp edges of the setting digging into the pad of her thumb. He knows how she feels about alcohol as a crutch. They talked about it at length one night, her head resting on his chest and his fingers combing slowly through her hair as she told him what it had been like during those years with her dad. How she'd become the parent, had to take on the weight of his grief in addition to her own. What it had felt like to watch her father choose the bottle over her again and again. The way it broke her heart to walk away from him in order to save herself.

"I drank until the sun came up. Until I was numb enough to shut off my brain and sleep. I woke up in the afternoon sometime. I wanted to call you. I knew I needed to but - I didn't know what to say. Nothing had changed in the twelve hours since we'd last spoken. So -"

"You started drinking again."

He shakes his head. "No, I sat in front of my computer and stared at blank page. I tried to write you a letter. I wanted to get it out, try to make sense of it. I wanted to apologize for being an asshole and explain why I was upset. I wanted to make it right. But the words just wouldn't come."

Castle takes a deep breath and she follows suit, forces her lungs to expand until they push painfully against her ribs.

This is it.

"I don't know how long I sat there but eventually I just needed to get out. My mother was hovering and I couldn't stop thinking and it was all just smothering me. I intended to just take a walk but found myself in some hole in the wall dive bar."

He looks down at his hands and Kate wants to hit him. Wants to jump across the bed and tilt his head up, make him look at her for this. He owes her that much. Owes it to her to look her in the eye when he tells her how exactly he went about throwing away five and half years - the rest of their lives - in this one night.

But she doesn't move. Doesn't speak a word.

"She sat down next to me about halfway through my second drink. We talked and -" He looks up at her, tears shimmering in his eyes. "Kate, I can't do this. I can't sit here -"

"Yes, you can." She clips the words, steel in her voice to hold up the weak walls of her chest. "I need to hear it."

"_Why_? Why do you want to do this to yourself?"

Because the things she's imaging are killing her. She needs his words to paint this picture, like so many before it, so she can see it in her mind. Can analyze and deconstruct. Try to find the reason, the key that will make sense of it all. As much as the details are going to hurt, the unknown hurts more.

"I just do," she answers.

Castle turns, sliding his leg off the bed and planting both feet on the floor, shoulders slumped and head hanging. When he finally speaks, it's in a voice so quiet that she has to strain to hear him.

"We talked for a couple of hours. About nothing really. She didn't know who I was and I didn't share. I bought her a few drinks and she kept sliding closer. Leaning into me. Eventually, she put her hand on my thigh and kissed my neck, asked me if I wanted to get out of there. I told her no." Kate hears him swallow and closes her eyes, lets the wispy images in her head swirl and solidify as he continues. "She asked me again two drinks later and I -"

"Said yes."

He doesn't look up, just nods, his hands knotted between his spread knees. "I said yes."

"Why?" The crack in her voice shatters the shoddily erected dam and her tears flow again in earnest. "Why did you leave with her?"

"She was - It was easy. Uncomplicated." The word hits her like an arrow, piercing her thin armor and slicing her heart in two. Fun and uncomplicated. "I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Did you -" The words stick to the back of her tongue. She's not sure she really wants the answer but she makes herself ask anyway. "Did you take her to the loft? Did you have sex with her in our bed?"

Castle spins to face her, his eyes wide. He holds his hands out and moves closer but doesn't touch her. Kate can feel the heat radiating off his body and hates herself for the sudden rush of desire that wells in her chest. She wants to take him. Wants to push him down on mattress, use her mouth and her body to remind him what they are to each other.

What they were.

"No, Kate. No." The urgency in his voice makes her stomach roll. "I would never. _Never_."

The answer doesn't makes her feel better. He says he wasn't thinking clearly but if he had the presence of mind to not bring her to the loft then -

There's one last thing she needs to know.

"What's her name?"

Castle's hands engulf hers, calming her still fidgeting fingers. His thumbs brush over the insides of her wrists and she desperately attempts to control her breathing, to not let the stuttering of her heart be known. "Kate. That's enough."

"Do you even know?" It's malicious and cold and she tells herself a lie about not caring.

"Yes."

"Then tell me. Tell me her name."

"Charlotte," he whispers, his hands clenching hers, holding on as tightly as he can.

Kate closes her eyes, let's her imagination run free. Charlotte. She builds a sketch around the wireframe of the name, adding and removing details until she can see it. Can she her. Medium height and curvy, her breasts the perfect size to fill his large palms, his open mouth. Short but powerful legs that wrapped around his waist, draped over his shoulders; straight blonde hair that brushed his chest and tangled around his fingers. Bright blue eyes and a rosebud mouth that made him fall apart.

He had sex with a woman named Charlotte.

"I need you to go now."

"Kate."

"_Please_, Rick," she rasps, throat raw and aching from the tears that won't stop. Kate meets his eyes, tugs one of her hands free. Her left hand. She lays it against his cheek, his stubble scraping her palm. "You need to leave. I can't do this anymore. It hurts too much."

Castle leans in, rests his forehead against hers. His breath washes over her lips and oh god she wants to kiss him. Wants to press her lips to his and forget. Forget the fights and the pain and his betrayal. For just a minute, forget it all.

"I never wanted to hurt you."

"But you did."

His lips brush her temple when he pulls away and she leans into it for a moment before letting her hand fall from his cheek. Kate pulls her legs up to her chest and wraps her arms tightly around her shins, rests her cheek on her knees and closes her eyes. She can't watch him go.

"I love you, Kate," he says, voice broken and too close. "Please don't forget that. I love you."

The bed shifts and she listens as he slowly leaves the apartment, his booted feet thumping against the hardwood. Her sobs break free when she hears the quiet snick of the door latch sliding into place.

* * *

_Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


End file.
